Flames, Scotch and Stairwells
by NCISmuso
Summary: Somedays it's just good to know your partner has your back


It was late. Even sitting where she was on the upstairs windowsill of ops where all sun was blocked by the factory next-door, Kensi could tell that LA's rush hour was over and the nightlife was coming alive. Any other Friday night, a short skirt and the loud techno beats of a club would be a welcome relief to drown out the aches of the day but not tonight. Tonight all she wanted was peace. She took in a deep shaking breath and rest her temple against the cool concrete of the window frame, stretching her legs out in front of her. As she looked down at the bullpen beneath her, Kensi raked her hands through her hair, her long fingers snagging as they caught clumps of dried blood and building debris left by the explosion. The explosion.

They were never meant to be there. Hetty had gotten a call from Bates at the precinct asking for NCIS's help. A cold case involving a terrorist ring had heated up with the involvement of a young navy lieutenant and his brother. Bates had been given the tipoff that a bomb was scheduled to detonate in Woodley Park and all of LAPDs teams were to be positioned there, asking NCIS to raid the Glendale home where the men lived. But the intel had been wrong. They'd reached the house, Callen and Sam taking point and together with the SWAT team they'd cleared the house room by room until she and Deeks had reached the basement.

Kensi replayed the moment over and over in her head. Guns raised , she'd tapped his leg giving his the signal it was safe to venture in, completely unaware of what lay on the other side. But within moments of the door swinging open, she saw it. Large blue barrels filled the room strung together with duct tape and wire. A small red light flashed rapidly from a cell phone by the wall and before she could register what was happening, Kensi felt Deeks strong arms pushing her backward, grabbing her hand and pulling her up towards the front door. Quickly finding her feet she had sprinted with him, yelling, screaming at the SWAT teams' agents to retreat and get out as quickly as possible. It seemed so stupid now but all she could remember of that moment wasn't the blinding terror that had filled her mind or the heated flames that had licked her back as she fled, but the feeling of his hand in hers, gripping so tightly it was almost painful and that despite the splitting roar the explosion erupting behind her, her breath had caught oh so slightly.

Any other day she would have mocked or even punched him for taking her hand so intimately but today she hadn't. She'd held it tightly as they dove onto the lawn, ash and debris falling around them. She'd gripped it tightly as she felt her shin slam against the concrete path and heard his breath leave him as he cushioned their fall with his back but it was when she turned her head, blinking through the blood seeping from somewhere in her hairline and saw the bodies of the SWAT team littering the front yard, some slowly moving others completely motionless, that her other hand had sought his. Kensi flinched at the memory of the panic that had filled her as she checked her partner was alright. Pulling one another to their feet, their terror filled yells for Sam and Callen had been answered as the pair stumbled towards them from the smoke, bloodied and bruised. Together they'd worked to pull the rest of the agents out onto the street, some alive, some dead, many of them young and with families.

Reaching down beside her for the bottle of Hettys scotch she'd taken from the cabinet downstairs, Kensi wondered where Deeks was now. She knew he'd been called into the precinct to brief Bates but that had been hours ago and his bag was still resting on his desk, case report unwritten and open beside it. She regretted not offering to go with him or even just drive him there. Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the heavy doors to the Mission clanking shut. There he was, still wearing his torn clothes and with his shaggy hair still crusted with dirt. She watched on silently as he exhaled, bracing his hands on the front edge of his desk before slinging his bag over his shoulder and tossing his case report onto the growing pile of paperwork filling his IN tray. As he turned for the door, a dark shape on the balcony above caught his eye. Kensi. She shakily rose from her seat at the window and, scotch in hand, walked towards the stairs meeting him halfway down where together they eased themselves down to sit on the bottom step, legs touching gently. For a long time they sat in soft, companionable silence, listening to the eerie quiet of the usually bustling Mission. Everyone had been debriefed and sent home early and the tense feeling of unfinished business was palpable in the air. Finally it was Kensi that spoke.

"What did Bates have to say?"

Deeks eyes never left his feet. "Nothing much. Passed on his gratitude for our help. Passed on condolences. The usual bureaucratic crap."

He was pissed. She could tell just by looking at him. He was sat, shoulders hunched, his usual cheery air nowhere to be found. He looked defeated, smaller. She knew how deep his compassion and empathy ran for the people he helped and worked with yet it still surprised her whenever she saw him like this. And he knew it. He raised his head to look at her, their eyes meeting, hers gaunt and empty, his angry and red from fighting tears. Neither knew what to say. Carefully handing him the bottle, Kensi rest her head on his shoulder and there they sat until early morning.


End file.
